Page 84 of Her Viking Master

I heard a soft beep as he tapped something on his handheld. The floor beneath me vibrated slightly, and to my horror, I sensed something rising from between my spread feet. What felt like leather brushed against my inner thighs.

I whimpered in fear and confusion as the mysterious object continued to rise. The leather brushed higher against my thighs, warm and supple against my skin. As it ascended further, I finally caught a glimpse of what awaited me—a kind of saddle, expertly crafted of black leather stretched over a contoured frame. Its surface gleamed in the cell’s soft lighting, the leather looking butter-soft and ominously inviting.

The saddle rose until it hovered just millimeters from my exposed pussy, close enough that I could feel a warmth radiating from it, or perhaps that was just my imagination, my terror-heightened senses playing tricks on me. The leather surface was shaped with a central ridge that would press directly against my slit if I lowered myself onto it.

“Bend your knees,” Marmareus commanded, his voice stern.

I hesitated, staring down at the saddle with mounting dread. What would it do to me? What new humiliation awaited?

“Bend your knees, Mary,” he repeated, his tone hardening. “Now.”

With a sob of resignation, I obeyed, slowly bending my knees, lowering my body toward the waiting saddle. The moment my pussy lips made the slightest contact with the leather surface, the saddle came alive beneath me. A subtle vibration began, humming against my sensitive flesh, making me gasp in shock.

“Oh!” I cried out, instinctively trying to pull away, but the restraints held me firmly in place. The vibration was mild, almost teasing, but its unexpectedness made it all the more alarming.

“Lower yourself completely,” Marmareus instructed, moving to stand beside me where he could observe my reactions. “The more firmly you press against it, the more intense the stimulation becomes. It’s calibrated to respond to pressure.”

I let out another sob as I comprehended what he intended. This was no ordinary saddle—it was a diabolical device designed to force pleasure upon me whether I wanted it or not. With trembling thighs, I lowered myself further, feeling the central ridge of the saddle part my labia as I settled onto it.

Immediately, the vibrations intensified, sending jolts of unwanted pleasure radiating outward from my core. The leather felt sinfully soft against my tender flesh, the contours of the saddle fitting my body with disturbing precision, as if it had been molded specifically for me.

With a shudder I remembered the bride saddle in Rouen, the one in Sven’s house—and then the circle of them in the Hall of Training. I remembered how mortifying I had found it at first, and how Sven had taught me to ride his saddle as an act of submission to his pleasure, and my own. This tormenting saddle seemed a cruel mockery of the idea.

“The device reads your body’s responses and adjusts accordingly,” Marmareus said matter-of-factly.

As if to demonstrate his point, the vibration pattern shifted, becoming more rhythmic, pulsing against my clit in a way that made my hips jerk involuntarily. I bit my lip hard, determined to keep my wits. I lifted myself off the saddle, and the hum ceased from beneath me.

“You will remain here,Columba, positioned exactly as you are now, until I return,” Marmareus told me.

His words sent a panic thrilling through me. “How… how long?” I managed to ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

“We’ll see,” he replied. I could hear in his voice the cruel smile his mouth must wear.

“But…” I whispered.

“You may come as many times as you want,” Marmareus said, as if I hadn’t uttered a sound. His voice seemed almost kind. “In fact, I encourage it. I hope each orgasm will bring you closer to the truth—your truth, Mary.”

Craning my neck to peer over my shoulder, I watched him step back, straightening his tie and smoothing a hand over his immaculate suit. Then he turned and walked to the door. It slid open silently at his approach, then closed behind him with a soft hiss, leaving me alone, bound and exposed, my pussy almost touching the awful vibrating saddle.

I hung there, spread between the posts, every muscle quivering with the effort to keep myself from touching the saddle beneath me. The position was agonizing—arms stretched wide, legs spread, thighs trembling as I tried to maintain the awkward hover just millimeters above the warm leather surface. Sweat beaded on my forehead, trickled down my spine, gathered in the hollow between my breasts.

“I can do this,” I whispered to myself, focusing on the rough texture of the stone wall in front of me. “I can endure this.”

But my body betrayed me. First came the subtle burn in my quadriceps, a warning of fatigue to come. Then the deeper ache as my muscles began to exhaust their reserves. Five minutes? Ten? I had no way to mark the passage of time in this windowless cell, no reference point beyond the mounting distress in my straining limbs.

My right leg buckled first, just a slight give in the knee, but it was enough. My pussy brushed against the saddle, just the lightest, briefest contact. The device hummed to life instantly, vibrations pulsing against my sensitized flesh for a heartbeat before I could lift myself away again.

“No,” I gasped, redoubling my efforts, ignoring the screaming protest of my muscles.

But it was too late. That fleeting touch had awakened nerves already primed by Marmareus’ earlier attentions. My body remembered pleasure, craved more of it, even as my mind recoiled from the manipulation. I felt wetness gathering between my legs, my treacherous arousal making the next accidental contact slicker, more electric.

Another few minutes passed in desperate resistance. My calves began to cramp, sharp pain shooting up the backs of my legs. My thighs shook more violently, muscles failing despite my determination. Each time I slipped, each inadvertent brush against the saddle, the vibrations seemed to grow more insistent, more precisely targeted to my most sensitive spots.

“Please,” I whispered to the empty room, to whatever gods might be listening. “Please help me.”

But no help came. No vision of Yggdrasil appeared to rescue me from this torment. There was only the cell, the posts, the restraints, and the saddle waiting patiently below.

When the collapse finally came, it wasn’t gradual. My legs simply gave out, muscles surrendering all at once after being pushed beyond endurance. I dropped onto the saddle with a strangled cry, my full weight pressing my pussy against the vibrating leather surface.

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